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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22624336">The Wilderness You Find In Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleth/pseuds/Elleth'>Elleth</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works &amp; Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Face-Sitting, Fingerfucking, Identity Issues, Light Bondage, Nature Magic, Non-Consensual Touching, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Voyeurism, Wrestling, forests that probably want to eat you</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 08:53:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,002</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22624336</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleth/pseuds/Elleth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tauriel comes to Lothlórien, awakening the forest and its memory - and its hunger.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Galadriel | Artanis/Tauriel (Hobbit Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>2020 My Slashy Valentine</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Wilderness You Find In Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/gifts">kimaracretak</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tauriel is a bright presence even in Galadriel's golden woods. </p><p>Through Nenya she feels her enter, stepping across the northern borders gingerly with a greeting to the hidden guards, and the stain of the road is on her - and a wildness that pricks Galadriel's memories with an old, half-remembered hunger. </p><p>The forest also hungers for Tauriel. For Galadriel, bringing her beyond-the-Sea-magic from the Ancient West has tamed the land and made it timeless, turned Lindórinand the Valley of the Singers into Lothlórien the Dreamflower. But underneath centuries of leaves and golden blossoms, silver <i>niphredil</i> and golden <i>elanor</i>, curled in the hollows under the roots of the <i>mellyrn</i> to wait and watch, the wildness that was in Lindórinand still hungers for time and the wheeling stars and the free air, and bare feet beating in ancient dances on its grass. </p><p>Galadriel gave much to tame it. First she offered herself, laid open and bare to the forest and its lady then, whose voice still runs in the waters of Nimrodel that bears her name even though she is gone - perhaps not truly gone -, and enticed the forest into quiet by giving it what stillness and memory she had in her heart since her coming from the West. Then, she twisted part of herself into Nenya, in order to lock the connection into place and make the forest hers to keep safe for a time. </p><p>But Tauriel is of Mirkwood, one of the dark, wild places of the world where even the trees speak in ancient tongues, and the only spells laid outside Thranduil's kingdom are those of the forest itself, much like what she found in Beleriand, a free land for a free people to walk - her lip curls when she remembers the speaker of those words, but he was not wrong in that desire at least. An untamed wilderness for one of the wild ones to meld with. </p><p>Then, young as she was, it scared her, and she flew into the arms of a Maia to let herself be tamed and magicked anew. Now, older and perhaps - perhaps - wiser, she is the one to do the taming, but she can no longer tell where the forest ends and where she begins the further Tauriel strays into her realm. </p><p>For that night only, she promises herself, she will yield to the trees and let Lothlórien be wild. </p><p>For the trees, too, hunger. They murmur with unseen mouths, and their leaves rustle like a myriad sighs at the sight of Tauriel's long hair flowing loose and red over her back, the tip brushing the back of her thighs where they curve up into her ass. Tauriel, if she notices, seems unbothered. If she comes from the north, it is not strange that she wants to put as much distance between the border and herself as she can before nightfall, for Dol Guldur looms near. </p><p>Galadriel does not hinder her coming, although the trees shift to steer her - a tangle of thicket barring her way there, and brambles twisting up into a clear path, so that she comes near to the heart of the forest at last, where Galadriel waits in her garden. </p><p>She has sent her ladies away. That night she does not need attendance; she has all that she needs with her - hands and mouth and body, eyes and teeth, tongue and skin. </p><p>She watches from the mirror glade, and in the silvery water Galadriel sees Tauriel settle down by a brook from the mountains. She disrobes shamelessly - a lithe, young body with old bruises and enough scars for even an elvish lifetime, hard muscles and a fighter's stance. She is magnificent, Galadriel thinks - a red deer, perhaps, in her dancing movements. </p><p>An otter, when she dives into the water. There is a deep, clear pool where Tauriel has chosen to bathe, and as she darts into a rush of silver bubbles with a hair like a cloud around her, Galadriel's hand dips below the surface of her mirror, fingertips stroking through the water, across Tauriel's back, along her spine. </p><p>Now, when Tauriel surfaces, she is wild-eyed. "Who goes there?" she calls, and when no one answers her, or indeed, there is no one to see, she calls again. "What is this magic?" </p><p>Galadriel feels the water rejoice as it swirls around Tauriel. She can feel the warmth bleeding from her skin into the icy mountain spring, and the current that seeks its way between Tauriel's legs. In response, Tauriel shifts, her breath becoming shallower. </p><p>Galadriel withdraws her hand from the water, but it is not yet enough, she hasn't satisfied the forest - or herself, for seeing Tauriel as she did, she, too, <i>wants</i>. There is a wetness between her legs that hasn't been there in many long years. </p><p>A motion of her hand, and a living root within the bank twists around Tauriel's ankle, holding her there. Tauriel's tools, bow and knife lie above on the sward, out of her reach, and her fingernails do not suffice to prise herself free. </p><p>Galadriel arrives not long after. It is sunset when she moves from the shadow of the trees on the opposite bank, barefoot in the long grass, and reveals herself to Tauriel's astounded eyes. Even from across the brook she can see the black of her pupils widening, the involuntary intake of breath. </p><p>It makes Galadriel want her all the more, those signs of wildness. </p><p>She moves her hand and the root withdraws, setting Tauriel free. Only a minor whisper of protest comes from the tree - a high, slender silver birch that seems to lean a little closer over the impending scene. </p><p>Galadriel crosses the water, fully aware that they have not spoken a word, and helps Tauriel from the bank to the sward, where she sits, and indicates the ground next to her for Tauriel, who joins her after a moment's distrustful hesitation. </p><p>"My apologies. Lothlórien finds you intriguing. It sees something in you that it has long missed - the old wild that it once knew. Your homeland is Mirkwood, is it not?" </p><p>"It is, lady Galadriel." She needs no introduction, and knows it well, but there is a flutter of delight in her heart all the same at the recognition, and the almost-reverent way that Tauriel's tongue forms the name. </p><p>"Then that explains it. I fear you may have to render a tithe to the land if you mean to pass through, and more so if you mean to stay. You are welcome here as long as you bear no evil with you, and I can sense no such stain on you, so the Golden Wood is yours to roam at will, if you will let it have you for a while."</p><p>"Have me," Tauriel echoes. "How would you have me imagine that?" </p><p>Galadriel hides a smile, but knows that something on her face has given her away by the way Tauriel's brows knit. "If you would have me, say it. I find you fair, and might not gainsay your request, but speak plainly to me, so I can be sure of what I agree to." </p><p>"My words are plain. The forest wants you, and I am bound to it. All I experience, it experiences, and all it experiences, I do. The choice is yours, then, for how to proceed."</p><p>"Then let us do this." Something in Tauriel's voice lightens, and some of her pride lifts like armour that falls away. She is naked, but unselfconscious as she rises, displaying her body for Galadriel to see, and she drinks in the sight - the drops of water in the sinking sun, some catching the first stars swimming in the still-light sky. The way Tauriel's hair curls against her skin where it begins to dry back to its beautiful russet from the deep red it is when wet. </p><p>Galadriel also rises, and reaches for a strand of hair to wrap around her fist. Drops of water squeeze out as she uses it as leverage to pull Tauriel closer, who follows with little resistance, and their lips meet perfectly, before Tauriel nips, no warning, and then bites down on Galadriel's soft lower lip, enough to draw blood that she laps at. </p><p>"You taste sweet," she mouths against Galadriel's lip, and Galadriel is almost ashamed at the rush of heat into her cunt. She has not had a partner in a long time who was more forward than reverent, and not until now did she realize how hungry she herself was for this wildness. </p><p>The borders between herself and the forest blur, and a wind picks up in the leaves as Galadriel forces her lips against Tauriel's, forces her mouth open and her tongue in, and tastes the tang of her own iron and copper in Tauriel's mouth. </p><p>They come down to the ground together, both refusing to break away from the other, drinking each other in until breathlessness forces them to stop for air, and now Tauriel's weapons are in reach, and there is a knife in her hand that she lays at Galadriel's collarbone, where the fine-wrought lace of her dress begins. The tip catches in the mesh, the thin thread snaps. A hungry light comes into Tauriel's eyes. </p><p>"My lady, you are wearing too many clothes. Will you undress, or leave this to me?" </p><p>Galadriel would laugh if she weren't still so breathless. She rises, and sheds the dress that hugs her like a second skin. Enticing as the prospect is, she would hate to see the diligent work of her maidens ruined. The dress leaves no room for underclothes, and she is not going to hide her nakedness from Tauriel's hungry eyes. In the dimming light Tauriel, too, stands, and comes to her, bringing her frigid body, still icy from the water, against Galadriel's heated skin, and it is a blessing and a curse at once when Tauriel dips her head to bite at the soft skin of Galadriel's throat, teeth perhaps - or perhaps Galadriel imagines it - a little too pointy, pressing into her flesh so close to her jugular, drawing bruises and bite-marks and delight in how they punctuate Galadriel's fair skin. </p><p>Galadriel herself feels overcome by heat and cold, and wonders how she could underestimate Tauriel so, but she luxuriates in the tiny centers of pain, the radiance of heat rising from them, and then Tauriel's hands are on her breasts, squeezing first one nipple, then the other until they stand hard against her skin and Tauriel sucks them into her mouth. There's - it's too much, almost; Galadriel's back arches into a hollow, and she backs away against the silver birch by the water. </p><p>Tauriel follows, still reckless, the wet ropes of her hair sliding against Galadriel's stomach - she has long since let go of the one wrapped around her fist - and leaving trails of shivers in their wake. The tree between her shoulder-blades, the water behind it, Tauriel before her, Galadriel is utterly trapped - and would not have it any other way.</p><p>Her hands fly to Tauriel's head, fingernails digging into her scalp as Tauriel's tongue slips over Galadriel's stomach, over her hips - there, at the crest of them, another bite that reverberates through the bone - and then Tauriel takes her by the hips and Galadriel finds herself wrestled to the ground. </p><p>The earth shudders at the impact. Galadriel remembers the ancient wrestling games of Tirion and on Taniquetil - they might be two bodies then and there in the sand of the arena, but then they were more evenly matched, and Galadriel's own country had not turned on her. For Nenya burns on her hand like a beacon. She is not sure that Tauriel can see it, but she must, surely, feel the pulses going outward from the ring in the racing rhythm of Galadriel's heartbeat, and in them the entire land shivers.</p><p>Of course, a moment's clarity comes to her, when she grasps Tauriel, straddles her, and briefly gains the upper hand, but then there is something long, wooden, sinewy on her ankle that pulls her off her balance. The trees might as well be laughing. </p><p>Of course. The forest wants wildness for its own, not for wildness to be tamed through Galadriel visiting on Tauriel what she visited on Lothlórien. The tithe is not Tauriel's to pay. </p><p>It's Galadriel's. </p><p>In short notice, Galadriel finds herself on her back. There's that root around her ankle, the same way that she held Tauriel fast earlier. There is another that's grasping her wrists and pulling them apart to the ground. Galadriel kicks as Tauriel, quick to seize her advantage, moves to straddle her across her hips. </p><p>She is glorious against the night sky, and the fox-like smirk playing on her lips is something else. Behind her, the stars are whirling freely, a wild night such as Lothlórien has not seen since the departure of Nimrodel, and Galadriel can feel the land slipping from her grasp. She breathes the free air and feels the forest's rejoicing and rustling and remembering all through her. The trees that the Nandor woke are waking and forgetting their tameness, and if the realm Galadriel held was one that contained the Elder Days Unstained, or near as she could make it, then this is the glory of Cuiviénen that she has never seen, revelling in its freedom. </p><p>Tauriel feels it, too. There is a wild light, a forest light, in her eyes as she bends down to Galadriel, and kisses her fiercely enough to leave Galadriel breathless and so aware of how vulnerable she is right now, and that sends a rush of need all through her in turn, remembering Melian's spells on her, and even further, the hand of Varda, and all that came in between then and her present. </p><p>Her legs are pulled apart, and Tauriel settles between them, her knee against Galadriel's cunt, friction that Galadriel can move against, rubbing herself against Tauriel's skin and gasping at the delicious pressure, until Tauriel shifts again, and plunges two fingers in without warning, to the joint, to the knuckle, and fucks her with abandon, and every thrust shocks pleasure through Galadriel like a hailstorm coming down on her. </p><p>Tauriel never touches her clit, never pays particular heed to Galadriel's need. Galadriel bites her lips, starting up the bleeding from Tauriel's earlier bite again, can taste copper in her mouth again, and wills herself closer to her climax, part spite at what might otherwise be a use and a humiliation, and part desire and part trying to give her land what it wants, end this, regain control, and send it back to its calm, its sleep, and learn to never let another Mirkwood stranger, another wild elf, cross the borders of this land lest it awakens again. </p><p>For if it does, it might claim more than her pleasure. Lothlórien is ancient, and it is powerful, and Galadriel does not know if she would be able to subdue it a third time after Nimrodel, and after this. </p><p>Tauriel keeps fucking her, until there's unbearable heat and need building up inside Galadriel. She is taut as a bowstring, can feel every blade of grass tickling her thighs, the night air against her overheated skin. And still Tauriel doesn't stop. Galadriel bucks her hips in the same rhythm, knowing that a single touch of Tauriel's mouth would be enough to undo her now.</p><p>Then Tauriel stops. She is panting, colour high in her cheeks, cups Galadriel's face and slides her two wet fingers into her mouth. Galadriel tastes herself, sea salt and musk, wraps her tongue around Tauriel's fingers, and sucks on them until Tauriel smiles and lifts herself up from where she half-lay against Galadriel. </p><p>There is starlight like a crown on Tauriel's red hair. There is no doubt she is queen here and now, and this precisely is her realm, one of her own creation, and Galadriel, knowing the triumph of that, cannot begrudge her any of it. </p><p>Perhaps the aliveness of it all. </p><p>So when Tauriel leaves Galadriel's need unfulfilled, she cannot even complain. If she were able to take her own pleasure now, she would. But when Tauriel lowers herself over Galadriel's face, so wet Galadriel can taste her before she touches her lips, she worships. She parts Tauriel's folds with her tongue, traces her shape, plunges deep, withdraws, revels in the taste that is Tauriel and that is wildness, and wishes desperately she could touch, sink her fingers into muscles and around the cusp of Tauriel's hips and hold her against her mouth and at her command, but the land still binds her with its roots. </p><p>She worships Tauriel, and her wildness, and worships her own land through this, to its very essence, and finally when she has Tauriel gasping with wordless pleasure, closes her lips around Tauriel's clit and sucks, and the stars whirl, and the land shudders and is still as the climax sweeps through Tauriel, rolling to the side to gaze at the sky. Sweat-bathed, she shines under the ancient stars. </p><p>The roots loosen their hold on Galadriel, and she frees herself easily now, sitting up to breathe, wipe her wet face. She descends down to the brook to wash once she trusts her legs to carry her again, and gasps at the bite of the icy water running down to Anduin and the sea. </p><p>But all is as it should be. On her hand, Nenya is dark and quiet, and on the other bank the fireflies have come out in force, like stars that have come to earth to dance. </p><p>Above, the trees are still, and the stars are once again calm. Lothlórien has fallen back into its sea-magic sleep. But maybe, Galadriel thinks, listening into herself as she washes away the evidence of the encounter and lets it run downstream, a little of Tauriel's wildness kindled in her own heart, the old spirit that drove her from the Blessed Realm's contentedness. </p><p>She must not let it grow.</p>
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